After
by Angelic Toaster
Summary: Based on a challenge by the lovely Yizuki: He should miss them more, shouldn't he? He should be fighting tooth and nail to get back, no time for breaks or jokes in between. But somehow... Harry just might not to leave. Not yet. RoyEd. T for language.
1. Prologue

_**Hello! This is my newest story, an attempt to satisfy an intriguing prompt by Yizuki. Obviously, I therefore not only lack ownership of anything you recognize from Harry Potter and Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood, in this story, but that won't be integral to the plot, so you 2003 anime-lovers need not fear), I also don't own the general idea. Poopie.**_

_**Anyways, I really hope this little dip into the world I've begun furiously crafting piques the interest of a few of you lovely people out there, and if it does, I would really love to have a few reviews! I always work better, and more quickly, when I have reviews to inspire me, and constructive criticism (hell, I'll even take flamers) is almost as awesome as chocolate.**_

_**And without further ado,**_

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**Prologue**

Draco Malfoy is a scarred child.

Growing up in the household of one of the highest-ranked Death Eaters, Draco saw a number of things that would lend to that, and one event in particular would never leave his mind.

_"My dear Narcissa, they test my patience every day! Sticking their noses in where no one wants them; why, I would never have been forced to deal with this if things had stayed the way they are meant to be! I—"_

_ "Excuse me, Mister Malfoy, Master, sir!" Comes the squeaking voice of some house elf or another, interrupting Draco's father. Draco had never been too bothered to learn all of their names; it was of no consequence to him, according to his father. And his father knew _everything_. Draco was tempted to peer around the edge of the door frame to see what was going on, but he knew that if his father learned he was listening in again, he would carry through with one of those awful punishments, and Draco found that very idea quite abhorrent. _

_ "What is it, elf? You should hope for your continued existence that your reason for interrupting me is quite as important as your tiny mind must think it is!" Roars Lucius, and Draco flinches at his tone, drawing into the shadows of the hall a bit more. Yes, Draco knows that tone quite well._

_ Sounding even meeker, and if possible, squeakier, the house elf says shakily, "Mister Malfoy, Master, sir, Dobby saw a muggle on the front lawns, and Dobby did not know what to do with him, Mister Malfoy, Master, sir!"_

_ Draco covered his ears, trying in vain to block of the roared response of his father. He hears the man yell something quite unintelligible, and the sound of a curse flying from his wand, before the terrified squeaks of the house elf, Dobby, fills his mind. The squeaks are quickly bitten back to pitiful whimpers, and Draco can hear footsteps moving alarmingly brusquely in his direction over them. '_Father has to come through this door to get to the front lawn!' _he realizes, and quickly stuffs himself back into the shadowy corner behind a nearby bookshelf, behind the door._

_ Just after Draco stills, he can see his father enter the hall he is in (the front hall, just behind the main entrance). Lucius storms to the large double doors and flicks his wand. The doors fly open, and Lucius, not even pausing, walks right out onto the lawn. From his place, Draco can just barely see the muggle man standing, confused, in the front drive, looking as if he were on his way to the doors. As Draco's father comes toward him, the muggle begins talking in a slightly nervous and very confused tone, "Excuse me, sir, do you have time to learn about our Lord and Savior—"_

_ Draco watches Lucius flick his wand from behind, and the almost immediate screams of surprise quickly morphing into unimaginable pain from the man explode in Draco's mind. '_Why?' _he wonders, not seeing any reason for this horrid action on his Father's part. '_Why? Why? WHY?' _The man's screams continue, and Draco can't block them out, can't turn away, not even when his mother is suddenly there, shushing him and plucking him up from the ground, carrying him away, further into the mansion with tears glistening in her eyes._

No, Draco would never forget that experience. And he would never forget what the trauma of that day forced him to remember, no matter how unbelievable the idea seems. As bad as it is, Draco sometimes thinks that maybe he should be a bit thankful for watching that—not that he could EVER condone such pointless pain—because at least_ now he knows_.

The memory plays in his mind again, and despite its similarly horrifying feel to the other one, Draco never wants to forget this, not for a moment. Not again.

_"Edward, what in the world are you looking at?" They were in the middle of a mission, moments away from entering the terrorist group's home base; they couldn't afford anyone to be distracted. The boy's (no, he's a man now, Roy's mind tells him, briefly skimming over the now-grown features of the blond, remembering the last few years since the Promised Day) eyes widen wildly as he snaps his head around to meet the confused gazes of the military team._

_ His eyes, wide and terrified, will be the last thing Roy sees. "GET DOWN!" Edward roars in a panicked voice. But there's no time for any of them to dive for cover before Roy's world explodes in a painful, fiery mess._

If Roy Mustang (or Draco Malfoy, whichever one prefers) didn't believe in reincarnation before, he does now.

Harry Potter doesn't think he'll ever get used to this.

It's five in the morning, much too early to be awake in his opinion, and just like he has for the past month, Harry is cooking breakfast for his relatives. Only, today is the first morning that Aunt Petunia hasn't been there to watch like a hawk over his shoulder, making sure he's doing everything correctly, barking orders at him when he begins to burn something or forgets a spice. Instead, his bony aunt is upstairs in her bedroom, getting ready for another day as a suburban housewife in Little Whinging, Surrey.

It takes a little while, and about halfway through Harry's massive Uncle Vernon sits himself at the kitchen table with the morning paper, obviously waiting for his food. Just as Harry deems the bacon and sausage fully cooked, he grunts quite loudly and irritably, "Hurry up, boy!"

Sufficiently frightened into hurrying by his Uncle's barked command, Harry flicks the knob so that the stove turns off and grabs the handle of the pan. Grunting slightly with the weight and heat of the thing, Harry takes it with him as he moves to step off of the stepping stool he had used to be able to look over the stove. But while concentrating so hard on not dropping the pan, Harry fails to notice a small wet spot just in front of the stool. Incidentally, the wet spot is right where he needs to place his small feet. Harry slips, one foot still on the stool, and things seem to both slow down and speed up at once. He feels himself falling forward, the ground rushing to meet his face. His body twists, trying to protect himself from serious injury, and the hot pan leaves his grasp. The air leaves him as he hits the floor on his side, his ankle scraping harshly on the edge of the stool and his head cracking on the tile flooring just after his body. Then comes the pan, landing just a few feet away and splattering him with scalding oil and a bit of almost-as-hot sausage and bacon.

Harry leaps to his feet, adrenalin allowing him to ignore his injuries for just a moment as he instinctually throws himself as far as he can get from the burning food products, swiping at that which still clings to his body.

Then his Uncle Vernon is there, yelling furiously at him for ruining the breakfast, and Harry is much too surprised and frightened to really understand what's going on. The adrenalin is still rushing through him as his body yells that he needs to get to safety, get away, and tend to his wounds. But he can't move, can't think, as Vernon's furious spitting and screaming washes over him. Then his Uncle is leaving, yelling for him to stay there, and Harry wants to run, knows he should run, but he just _can't_, and he doesn't understand what happened, how did the pan get on the floor? Suddenly, his Uncle Vernon is back, and he's holding a long, leather belt in his hands, cracking it dangerously as he advances on little—tiny, scared, much too young and innocent—Harry, and the only thought in his head is '_Oh, no,' _ but he can't move. His breathing stops, and he finally stumbles back a few steps, but it's much too late now, anyways.

When the belt hits him for the first time—'_It hurts!_'—Harry isn't as surprised as he thinks he should be. He curls in on himself, his mind going almost completely blank as he tries to cover his head with his arms, not even hearing the yelling and screaming of his Uncle Vernon anymore. He's gone now, disappearing somewhere far into his mind. His heart is thundering, but he feels strangely blank and calm with his eyes squeezed shut, and he can't even really feel the belt now…

And then, curled in on himself and his mind leaving the world behind, Harry remembers.

_What is that he sees, in the distance? Closing in on them, getting closer—No! The group, they must be able to see us now, it's a bomb! Edward wheels around, facing the rest of his group, forcing the words out of his mouth despite his terror, because _he has to get them to safety_! And there's no time left! His eyes lock on Mustang's, that Bastard General, the man he owes his life to, the man he thinks he might love, and he doesn't know that those shining, dark orbs will be the last thing he sees. "GET DOWN!" He roars, getting ready to sprint forward and drag the man to safety, but then time's up and his world explodes in fiery chaos._

Then he's back, back in reality, back in the kitchen getting beaten by a walrus of a man holding a belt, but he's not just the terrified six-year-old Harry Potter. No, he's so much more, and he's aware of that now, if only just to a degree. Just as the belt cracks down once more, preparing to slam into his arms and sides for maybe the twentieth time, his arm snaps out. He catches the thing out of mid-air, and it automatically curls around his bloody arm. With a mighty yank, he tugs it out of his Uncle Vernon's hands, standing up to face the man with an undeniable fury lighting up his face. No more, he decides, and his face alone immediately scares Vernon Dursley, shaking him to the core. The air around the boy seems to match his emotions, whipping wildly about the kitchen, lifting up his raven locks and plastering the over-sized shirt and pants to his small body. Electricity sparkles around him, looking ready to strike down the man at his command, and golden eyes shine with all of the determination and rage in the universe. Vernon Dursley knows in that instant that he will never make the mistake of beating this boy again—and weren't his eyes emerald like his dirty mother's just moments ago?!—but then the wind and the sparks are gone, the rage and the fierce determination fading away to be replaced by utter shock.

Then, with no other warning, Harry Potter found himself sprinting past his Uncle Vernon, out of the house, down Privet Drive, on and on, not looking back. And Vernon Dursley found himself staring down at the bloodied belt sitting on the tiled flooring, his trousers around the crotch area suddenly quite damp.

If Edward Elric (or Harry Potter, whichever one prefers) did not believe in reincarnation before, he does now.

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**_If you have the time, please,_**_**review, favorite, and follow!**_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Wow! Such an immediate response! You guys are awesome! And to the guest reviewer, Runner, I would have put a link to the challenge up if I thought it would work, but so far as I know, you can't put links in stories. So to find it, you can search up the lovely Yizuki and click on her story "I DARE YOU!". Thanks so much guys! Please keep favoriting, following, and reviewing, and I will keep on writing!**_

_**If anyone finds themselves with extra time on their hands and a willingness to do something productive with it, I'd love a beta reader! Just send me a PM if you are interested!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter, Fullmetal Alchemist, or the general idea behind this story! If you recognize it from elsewhere, it's not mine!**_

**Chapter 1**

In the weeks that follow Harry's revelation, he discovers quite a few things. The first is his new body in quite weak and flabby, which is something he immediately begins an exercise regimen to remedy (to train the mind, you have to train the body, as Teacher always said). The second is that after that day his eyes mysteriously turned from the green color they used to be to his old golden color, though he didn't notice any other changes. The third, was that alchemy doesn't seem to work in this strange world, but whenever he got emotional, mysterious things would happen around him that seemed to make his aunt and uncle very angry. His cousin, not the brightest boy, would tease him for his newfound habit of going to the public library at every opportunity, but Harry would pointedly ignore him. As time progresses, he grows accustomed to his lonely lifestyle, noticing absently one day during his workout that his entire demeanor seems to be a mixture between that of Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, and Harry Potter, the little orphan boy that he was reincarnated as. Every morning, he wakes up from his latest nightmare or dream of his previous life (or sometimes, a dream about a bright flash of green light and a flying motorcycle that he didn't understand) and begins his daily routine. It starts with half an hour of extensive stretches, then flows into increasing amounts of crunches and push-ups and lunges. Then he cycles through a number of attack and defense moves in the back yard, following that up with a few acrobatic exercises, before going on an intense run throughout the sprawling suburbs of Little Whinging.

Every morning he returns from his run just after dawn and takes a quick shower, drying off and getting dressed as fast as he can. The brief aches at this time as he wishes for his bright red coat fade after a few years. Then, as his relatives are just beginning to awaken, he enters the kitchen and prepares the breakfast, sneaking himself a helping before anyone else arrives downstairs because he knows if he does not then he will have only a piece of toast that morning, and this is the only meal of the day where he will have the chance to get a proper serving. Even without having to eat for Alphonse's body as well as his own (though he can't remember why that was), Harry still wants to eat as much as he can (which still isn't enough for a growing boy, especially not one that keeps his schedule, but it can't be helped).

After the food is cooked, his relatives wander into the kitchen and gather around the table. On this specific morning, said table is absolutely piled with perfectly wrapped gifts, all waiting to be torn open greedily by his fat lump of a cousin. The walls of the house are covered with pictures of the boy, from images of a chubby baby to a round toddler, and then a growing boy (with a growing girth) doing all sorts of fun, happy things with his doting parents. Looking at the walls, one wouldn't guess that there is another child in the house, especially not one of much the same age sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs every night, doing all of the chores every day, and hiding away in some hidden corner with a new book at every other waking minute. Harry knows that the best thing for his ensured safety is to comply with his Aunt and Uncle's wishes and be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible. It grates his nerves, especially with the instinct for dramatics as Edward, but Harry promises himself that it isn't for forever. He is saving up, pocketing any small amount of money he can get his hands on and keeping it all in an old sock under his bed, just biding his time for the day he is old enough to get a job and leave the house.

When Harry's uncle enters the kitchen area, he demands in a rough and tired tone, "Comb your hair, boy!" Harry doesn't bother arguing, and quickly takes his leave for the upstairs bathroom, just barely dodging his cousin Dudley on his way out of the kitchen. He hurries up the stairs, torn between laughing and groaning when he hears Dudley cry out from below, "Thirty-six? But I had thirty-eight last year!"

_Oh Gate_, thinks Harry as he begins brushing his teeth, _why me?_

Harry soon finds himself downstairs again, handing the mail to his Uncle Vernon and pouring juice in a cup for Dudley who is busy tearing open yet another parcel. The phone rings, a noise that has always grated Harry's nerves a bit as it makes him think of phone calls with Winry, or Teacher, or Colonel Bastard, or Alphonse… But his Aunt Petunia quickly answers it, and Harry doesn't bother to listen to the conversation as he scrubs away at the dishes in the sink. It is only when is aunt comes back into the room with a nervous look on her face that he bothers to pay any attention to his relatives.

"There's a problem, Vernon. Mrs. Figg's broken her leg; she can't take that one today," she says jerking her head toward Harry as he is mentioned. The boy cheers mentally, instantly happier now that he knows he won't be spending his day stuck with the crazy, old, cat-obsessed woman in her stinky house while his relatives and one of Dudley's friends went out to whatever his Aunt Petunia had planned for her precious Dinky-Duddydums's birthday this year. "Now what?"

His aunt and Uncle go through a number of options, each one ending up negative, until they finally come to the only conclusion—Harry would be going with them to the zoo this year. The boy grins as Dudley bursts into his annoying crocodile tears, complaining loudly and trying to get his mother to make it go his way. Harry thought staying home alone would be preferable—he would have been able to watch what he wanted on television for once, maybe run down to the public library in search for something he hadn't read yet—but this would definitely be the second best option. He would be able to see all the animals, and even though he had been about to turn twenty when he died, Harry is now just a ten-year-old boy with some of that ten-year-old mindset, and he is in the height of the second childhood he has not been able to enjoy. Animals are awesome!

Quicker than Harry knows, Dudley is turning off the crocodile tears in favor of answering the door for his friend Piers (the other one beside his cousin who simply loves to bully Harry, though they haven't landed any successful punches or kicks since Harry was six years old), and they are all rushing out to his Uncle Vernon's new company car. Before he can climb in, though, Harry's uncle pulls him aside with quite the frightening warning face on.

"I'm warning you, boy, warning you now—any funny business, anything at all, and you'll be staying in that cupboard for a month!"

Harry narrows his eyes, quite annoyed with the warning—it's not as if Harry ever means for those strange things to happen! They just do, and he always gets blamed. "I'm not going to do anything," he promises, and even though Uncle Vernon obviously doesn't believe him, the man lets him get into the car without anything more than a suspicious glare.

Of course, Harry can understand the suspicion. Ever since that day when he was six (and even before, but Harry doesn't really remember those times), strange things have happened all around the young boy. Once, when he was running from Dudley and his crew to escape their angry fists (because if he were to fight back, they would lose spectacularly and however awesome that would be, he would still be trapped in his cupboard with not even books to entertain him for months), he had found himself a good few meters away, out of harm's reach, while massive, stone hands much like those he would transmute in his previous life had chased and grabbed each aggressor. Uncle Vernon had stuffed him in the cupboard for a month. Then another time, when Dudley had called him an orphaned midget, Harry had not been able to hold back the explosive anger and yelled response ("_WHO ARE YOU CALLING A GRAIN OF RICE SO SMALL AN AMOEBA WOULD OVER LOOK IT_" yelled in his original language, Amestrian, rather than English, which had incidentally been the first and only time he had spoken the language since his death), and Dudley had found himself suddenly being zapped by miniature arcs of blue lightning.

They arrive at the zoo rather quickly, and Harry quickly finds that this trip is by no means a disappointment. The animals (roaring lions, bright flamingoes, pacing tigers, fuzzy koalas, giraffes that lick your fingers when you feed them, and much more) are everything he had dreamed they would be. And at lunch time, after Piers and Dudley get their deluxe boxes with large ice creams and before Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia can usher their group away, the man at the food stand asks what Harry wants. It's more than he expects when Uncle Vernon orders Harry the smallest kids' meal, which of course comes with a small, vanilla ice cream cone. And when Dudley demands a new frozen treat because his doesn't have enough nuts on it, Harry happily finishes that one off as well. By the time the group is off to the final and only unseen section of the park toward the end of their visit, Harry is thinking that this may be his favorite day of this life so far.

It doesn't take long for Dudley to lead their group to the largest snake in the reptile house. It takes even less time for the oafish boy to throw a mini tantrum over the poor thing being asleep and run off to find something more interesting to mess with.

While his relatives and Piers trail along after Dudley, Harry stays behind, watching the tired snake with sympathy. Uncaring for how weird it may seem, Harry says quietly to the creature, "Sorry for him," thinking of how he should be thankful that at least he can get some privacy in his cupboard whereas this creature must be bothered all day long, every day, with people just like Dudley coming up and banging on the glass for amusement.

And to Harry's great surprise, the snake slowly and deliberately opens both eyes and lifts its head, coming up high enough to meet Harry's gaze—and it winks.

Wondering mildly if he's gone insane (It's not even a chimera! Harry would know if it was, no, this is just a snake), but deciding to go with the flow and accept the situation, Harry glances around to make sure no one is watching before winking back.

Harry doesn't even bother trying to deny what's happening now as the snake deliberately jerks its head to indicate where Harry's relatives are and rolling his eyes, giving the raven haired boy a look that plainly says, "I get that all of the time."

"That must really be annoying," says Harry, and the snake nods in affirmation. "Where do you come from, anyway?" asks the boy, curiosity making him unable to resist asking. The snake motions to a plaque just beside its cage, which Harry quickly reads. _Boa Constrictor-Brazil. Bred in captivity._

Harry begins to speak again, but before he can really say anything, he is shoved quite roughly out of the way by an over-exited Dudley and Piers, Dudley pressing his fat face excitedly into the glass.

Nobody could have guessed what happens next. One moment, Harry is glaring at his cousin with anger bubbling up in his chest, and the next, the glass of the cage disappears , and Dudley is falling face-first into a tank with a boa constrictor. Then the snake, looking quite smug, begins to slither surprisingly quickly out of it containment, right past Harry and the others. And as the animal passes, Harry swears he hears a deep voice hiss, "Brazil here I come. Thankss, Amigo…"

Much later, Harry finds himself laying on his bed in the cupboard, staring into the dark and wishing he had a watch to know if it is late enough to risk sneaking into the kitchen for some food. But he knows, with how insanely furious his Uncle Vernon was when they got home that afternoon ('_And just how could he have possibly been so sure it was my fault?!_' Harry thinks, but never bothers to say because that would make things much worse), it won't be worth it to risk getting in any more trouble than he already is. Still, that snake had sounded so happy earlier that day as he slithered off with surprising speed, nipping warningly at the heels of those who wouldn't move out of his way fast enough (and Harry refuses to even touch on how strange that thought is), that the young boy is convinced that this entire escapade was worth it. So, hungry but without regret, Harry soon falls asleep.

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, on the first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. This of course, had ended in an anger fit from Harry over the fate of the poor woman that made Dudley's bike freeze and then quickly heat up, making the metal so brittle that the next time Dudley sat on it, it shattered like glass.

Today, though, even the punishment from that has passed and Harry is on his way back into the house from his morning run. Just as he moves to open the front door, though, a very loud hoot from behind him—undoubtedly the sound of an owl, but the sun rose almost twenty minutes ago!—and the young boy whirls around. There, flapping his wings to stay in the air, is a beautiful barn owl with what could only be a letter tied around one of its feet. Blinking in surprise, Harry thrusts his arm out for the owl to land on, though he's not quite sure why he does. The creature happily obliges, gripping tightly onto Harry's cloth-covered forearm without digging his claws into Harry's skin, and thrusts the foot with the letter out for the young boy to take.

Ignoring his confusion, Harry takes the letter with his free hand. On the front, written in loopy, emerald green letters is the most peculiar address he's ever read.

Mr. H. Potter

Cupboard Under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Well, there would be no denying it. This letter is addressed to him, with scary accuracy. The only thing that could have weirded him out more, at this point, would be if the thing were addressed to 'Mr. E. Elric'. As it is, Harry has to consciously remind himself that stranger things have happened to him since, well, ever, actually, and that he can handle whatever this is one step at a time. So, with some maneuvering (the owl does not want to leave his arm), Harry peels up the strange wax seal on the back of the envelope and pulls out a few papers. Unfolding them all together, Harry quickly reads the front page.

He then promptly blinks, takes a deep breath, and rereads the thing _much more slowly_.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

'_That_,' thinks Harry, '_not only completely fails to answer a single question I have about all of these strange things (because if this isn't some very elaborate practical joke, which he doubts anyone would bother to go through the effort of training an owl and such to set up, then this letter and owl simply have to be tied into the strange things that always seem to happen), it also raises even _more_ questions_.' One thing that is clear to Harry, though, is that if he wants any answers, he will have to send a reply with his owl.

And with that thought in his mind, Harry holds his arm with the owl out carefully next to Uncle Vernon's car and says to the creature hoping he'll understand, "You—please stay right there until I get back!" The owl blinks, well, _owlishly_, but steps onto the hood of the car obligingly, so Harry assumes it understands. With the letter in hand, Harry rushes inside to the front room and quickly grabs a notepad and pen from the coffee table before rushing back outside. He sighs in relief when he finds the owl to be just where he left him, and Harry walks up to stand next to the car. Using one of the windows as a support, Harry quickly scrawls out a reply letter. Reading over it once to make sure he is satisfied with it, Harry then ties the reply to the owl's offered leg with the string that had previously held the "Hogwarts" letter in place. He only realizes that he had been holding his breath once the owl is out of sight.

Sighing in a vain effort to calm his racing mind, Harry goes back into the house, replacing the pen and notepad before continuing on with his daily schedule, making sure not to mention any of that morning's oddities to his relatives when they come downstairs for breakfast, completely sure that to do so could quite possibly ruin everything, and get him into massive amounts of trouble all at once. '_I might NEVER leave the cupboard if that happens…_' No, even with his mind racing wildly with possibilities all day at school and at the Dursleys' house, Harry takes special precautions to make sure that the whole thing stays just with him.

Later that very evening, Dumbledore finds himself reading a very surprising letter, indeed.

Dear Mister Dumbledore,

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

I received a letter of acceptance to your school today, and I have quite a few questions that I think you may be able to answer. The first, is how you knew to address me, and so accurately. I've never received a letter before, but I'm sure no one is supposed to know that I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, because Uncle Vernon told me specifically not to tell anyone that. I'd also like to know if your strange letter, and the owl it came with, has anything to do with the equally strange things that have been happening around me all my life, and if it does, would that mean that it all has something to do with this 'witchcraft and wizardry'?

Thank you for your time,

Harry Potter

No, Dumbledore certainly had not been expecting that at all. Cupboard under the stairs? It had been a while since the last time, but Dumbledore thinks a visit to a potential student's home is in order. Immediately.

Harry's only just finished washing the supper dishes Saturday evening (the very next day after the appearance of the strange letter—he wasn't even able to sleep the night before with all of the jumbled mess of thoughts in his head, and Harry is a boy who has always valued sleep) when the doorbell of number 4, Privet Drive rings.

Harry knows, by the angry surprise on his Uncle Vernon's face and the way he mumbles about door-to-door salesmen, that the Dursleys were not expecting anyone. He brushes it off, believing just as easily as his uncle that a salesman is there, hoping to find someone sympathetic on a possibly quite long route, and feels a brief pang of sympathy for the poor fellow who is probably about to get another door in the face. So, when he hears his uncle roaring in a shocked, almost fearful tone, "YOU…!", he almost drops the cup he is placing in a cabinet out of surprise. Quickly placing the dish where it belongs, Harry goes to peer curiously out of the open kitchen door and down the front hall, dodging the elbow Dudley sends to his gut and raising himself on his toes to peer around the whale-like boy.

"Yes," begins the stranger in the doorway calmly, stroking an impossibly long, silver beard, "me. Good evening, Mister Dursley. You seem to be at a loss for words. I will assume that you intend to ask me politely if I would like to come inside. Yes, I shall, thank you!" With that, the man steps inside, walking right past Harry's uncle and into the hall. The door closes, seemingly on its own, behind him. Harry, finally getting a completely unobstructed view of the strange man, openly gapes. He's old, very old, with long, silvery hair to match the beard, twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, a pointed hat, and a matching set of long robes, each covered in a starry blue pattern. To Harry, he is nothing short of an exact replica of a wise, old wizard out of a children's book (the kind he never actually read, only glanced at in search of more interesting reading material).

The old man glances around the hall, looking briefly into the doorway next to him at the sitting room and then at the door to the cupboard under the stairs, before his eyes take in the mass of Dudley and—finally—land on Harry. The young boy, for his part, feels the chilling sensation that came with the gaze, as if the old man is seeing straight into his very soul. The Edward part of Harry scoffs at the idea, but the boy can't shake the feeling, so he just does his best to meet the gaze.

"Ah, Harry, I received your letter, and as requested, came prepared to answer a few questions. Won't you come here, dear boy? And Mister Dursley, it seems that your words are still failing you. I shall continue on the assumption that you intend to invite me to a seat and refreshment. I accept the offer, thank you." Just then, Harry's Aunt Petunia decides to show herself on the staircase.

"YOU..!" She cries in much the same way Vernon did upon seeing the old man, and Harry knows he would find it amusing if he weren't so incredibly confused. Feeling quite sick of all of this, all of the obvious secrets and lack of answers, Harry dashes right around his great lump of a cousin and into the hall, glaring around at the adults.

"What's going on here?" He asks, voice gruff and demanding, leaving no room for any more avoidance. His temper is boiling up, but Harry is sure to keep a good lid on it for fear of further delaying the explanations.

Dumbledore smiles serenely at him, blue eyes twinkling over a nose that Harry suddenly realizes is crooked in a way undeniably from a number of breaks that never healed quite right. "Let us take this into the sitting room—"

No, no more delays. Harry (though he's feeling much more like Edward now, because this position, demanding answers like this, feels much too familiar, even though he has no exact memory to place it to) nearly growls at the man as he says in a perfectly authoritative tone he remembers picking up from Colonel Bastard (whose actual name he still can't quite place…), "No more delays, old man. We'll speak right here, right now. What is going on?"

Dumbledore's eyes are suddenly not so serene, and much more tired, though there is a hint of surprise there at Harry's tone. For his part, Ed feels a little smug that he broke through that façade so quickly. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore says, "As you wish, Mister Potter. May I assume that you are unaware of your true history?"

Okay, what does that mean? All Harry can think of that he might be referring to past life, but that can't be right. Searching his mind for another possibility, he asks, "Do you mean how my parents died in a car crash?"

"Not a car crash, Mister Potter," begins the old man, some strange emotion flashing across his eyes that Harry can't place. "Your parents were part of a rebel group that I lead in fighting a very dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort. When you were very young, Voldemort found your home, did away with your parents, and gave you that scar on your forehead. You received that letter yesterday because you, too, are a wizard."

Harry doesn't even have a chance to begin processing this life-changing information before his Uncle Vernon cries out, "We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish, swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

Whoa, what? "You knew?!" cries Harry, feeling as if he had been betrayed yet again by the relatives who never cared for him. "You knew, and you never said?"

Vernon scoffs, but it is his Aunt Petunia who replies quite shrilly, "Knew! Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stops to draw a deep breath and then goes on ranting. It seems to Harry that she has wanted to say all of this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as –abnormal—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry's mind reels. All of this—witches, wizards, his parents, Dumbledore, Warthogs (isn't that the name of the school?)—is too much for him to take in a once. But he'll never admit weakness, especially not in front of his bastard relatives and this strange old man he's only just met. No, weakness is not an option. With a deep breath, Harry (feeling very much like he would prefer to just be Edward now) sets his jaw in determination and gazes around himself at all of the adults.

Finally, his eyes land on Dumbledore, who is obviously expecting him to freak out and have to be consoled and coddled like some child. That only strengthens his resolve, so Harry says, "Alright. Okay. I still expect more answers, mind you—but I except, old man. I want to attend your school—Warthogs, was it?" He adds the last part, accompanied by a confident grin that he is definitely faking but is sure won't be seen through (how does he know that? When has he used this grin before?), to make absolutely sure that the old man won't be underestimating him.

That twinkle returns in the old man's eyes, and Edw—Harry, knows that it worked, and the outraged cries of his aunt and uncle in the background don't matter at all now. _Good._

The next hour passes in a blur. Harry is barely even aware of his movements as he packs his few belongings from the cupboard under the stairs into his school bag and follows silently behind Dumbledore into the night. Even the impossibility and undeniable _strangeness_ of apparition doesn't pull him out of his stupor. It's not until he finds himself in a new room in the Leaky Cauldron (what kind of name is that?), lying on a surprisingly comfortable bed in his only set of pajamas and not even bothering to try and get some proper sleep that Harry's mind catches up with his body.

'_That actually happened. Magic is real, and I have it. Oh Gate, why me?_'

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_**Heh. I almost didn't include that last section, but it wouldn't fit in the next chapter, so... Enjoy the extra thousand-or-so words! Anyways, PLEASE review if you've got the time, favorite and follow if you have enjoyed this so far. And count on seeing chapter 2 one week from today!**_


	3. Chapter 2

_**So, this chapter is unedited. Sorry about that. I will be going back through it this week as I work on chapter 3, but I figured since I'm very, VERY scatter-brained today in particular, so I'll post what I already wrote. PLEASE, if you find mistakes, point them out to me so I can fix them! And to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, and followed this thus far-hell, even those who simply took the time to read to this point-thank you!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not Harry Potter (that's JKR), nor do I own Fullmetal Alchemist (sadly...)  
**_

_**If anyone finds themselves with too much time on their hands and a grasp of the English language's written intricacies, I'd simply love a beta reader!**_

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**Chapter 2**

When Harry wakes up the next morning, it takes him almost a full minute to realize he even fell asleep in the first place. Then he takes a good few seconds, a clock, and the darkness at the window in his temporary room to remember what happened yesterday and realize that he's woken up at his usual time. He also notes that Dumbledore told him last night, just before the old man left, that he would meet a man named Hagrid today to get his school supplies.

What to do while he waits, though?

Harry doesn't even pause to think about this question as he picks himself up from bed and begins stretching. It will be cramped, and he doesn't think he'll be able to get his run in, but he absolutely refuses to get flabby. Time passes quickly as the boy loses himself in the routine, and before he knows it, Harry is sitting on the bed, towel-drying his hair from the shower and watching the sun rise through his window.

_Magic. _It's so illogical, denies all of the laws he's known in both of his lives, but then again… It is, after all, an explanation to a lot of the more recent weird things in his life, this life… And he could never remember anything from alchemy (though, he can't remember quite a few things about the art) that would lend itself to reincarnation. So certainly, Harry thinks, if he learns all he can about this… magic (he'll have to get used to that word, now), then he'll be able to finally find his answers! Because, of course, Edw—Harry?—could _never_ be satisfied with all of the vague hints he got yesterday.

Echoing pounding on the door to his room shakes Harry out of his reverie. He jumps up from the bed, towel still draped across bare shoulders (though, thankfully, he is wearing belted blue jeans), and hurries to open the door. As he does, he is greeted with the sight of the tallest man he has EVER seen, including Armstrong.

"Hullo there, Harry! Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Call me Hagrid," he says by way of introduction, "everyone does. Blimey Harry, yeh've got some muscle on yeh!"

Harry, feeling quite bemused, gestures for Hagrid to come in before dashing back to his bag by the bed for a shirt, saying as he does, "I, erm, like to stay in shape, I suppose. Nice to meet you, Hagrid! I guess you already know who I am…"

He trails off awkwardly, holding a hand out to Hagrid, now fully clothed. The huge man chuckles, and Harry feels a pang of anger a jealousy in the back of his mind at the height of the guy. He could never hope to get that tall! Not that he's short! Actually, in this body, he's already a good few centimeters taller than he had been at this age in his other body around this age, and that's not even taking into account those platformed boots he would always wear to make himself taller—ARGH! HE WAS NOT SHORT!

That entire rant takes place in a split second in the back of Harry's mind, and is not acknowledged outwardly by the boy in any way besides a slight twitch of his left eye.

"Yeh know Harry, the las' time I met yeh, yeh could fit in the palmn o' my hand! An' I would'a sworn yer eyes were the same as yer mother's back then! Otherwise, yeh look ter be the spittin' image o' yer father!" Hearing this, the Harry part of Harry can't help but to grin widely at the positive mention of his parents, the ones he never knew…

'_And I now have my first father's eyes._' His mind says. This causes him to make a conscious effort to try and picture his father, but he is unable to dwell on his failure to do so for long. "Hagrid," begins Harry, "Dumbledore said you would be taking me to get school supplies today, and he said where we'd be getting them, but I… See, I don't have any money, and I know my Uncle would never agree to pay for any of this—"

Hagrid laughs loudly, interrupting the boy's worried ramblings, and says, "Don't worry abou' that. D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?" Oh. It actually never occurred to Harry that he may be inheriting anything from his late parents, and he doesn't know why. His confusion shows on his features, so Hagrid continues, "Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank."

Harry follows along behind Hagrid, pushing aside the questions that seem to want to bubble over every time someone mentions something new to him, assuming that they will be answered in due time, and that if they aren't, he'll be able to ask later. However, in the life of Harry/Edward, this mindset has never lasted long.

True to past experience, that "watch and learn and hold your tongue" idea is thrown out of the window when, upon entering the main room of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry is greeted as if he is Edward Elric once more and walking back into Central Command like he was never dead in the first place. The mundane chatter of the room's occupants falls into a harsh silence as all eyes land on his raven-haired, baggy-clothed form. The seconds tick by, all manner of people (from the bartender he met last night to each and every strange person at the tables and bar), and Harry can feel his face heating up as he does his best to return the stares, refusing to back down or look weak.

Then it all explodes into a chaotic mess. People begin shouting, standing to rush over to him, gesturing wildly as they speak, pushing even Hagrid aside in an effort to get close to him. Things like "It's true!" and "So he wasn't lying!" and "He's back! It's the Boy Who Lived!" echo from the mouths of the excited people now crowding Harry, and it's all he can do to stop himself from crying out "WHAT THE HELL?!" and fighting his way to the exit.

Then Hagrid begins forcing them into a line, his booming voice nervously commanding them to give the boy space enough to breathe, and Harry begins shaking hand after hand, wondering why he's being treated as if he's still the Hero of the People in this world.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" exclaims Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat falls off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop." '_Weirdo_,' thinks the boy, but he doesn't voice that thought.

"He remembers!" cries Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!" Harry shakes hands again and again—and Doris Crockford keeps coming back for more.

A pale young man make his way forward nervously, one of his eyes twitching as he does. "Professor Quirrell!" says Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammers Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," mutters the man, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughs nervously, "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." Harry, ignoring the new questions at the mention of _vampires_, thinks the man wouldn't be able to read such a thing without pissing himself.

The others don't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself, though. It takes almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid manages to make himself heard over the babble, "Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Harry."

Doris Crockford shakes Harry's hand one last time before Hagrid leads the boy through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there is nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grins at Harry. "Yer quite famous, yeh know. Doubt there'll be a witch or wizard in the world that don't know yer name."

Relieved to finally have a moment to ask questions and breathe without someone swooning in awe over the act, Harry asks, "Why is that?"

Hagrid almost drops a random pink umbrella as he whirls around to look at Harry rather than the brick wall. "Yeh mean yeh don't know who yeh are? Blimey Harry, there's not a kid in the whol o' the wizardin' world that don't know yer name!"

'_Wait, what? Does that mean_,' Harry wonders, _'that my other life isn't a strange secret after all?_'

Hagrid, sensing Harry's confusion but not the true reason behind it, continues on, "Yer the Boy Who Lived! The one who saved us all from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when yeh were jus' a tyke! Yeh really don't know?"

Slowly, Harry shakes his head and asks, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Isn't that a bit of a mouthful? Why can't he be named anyways? Wait—is that what everyone calls Voldemort?" When he says the name, Hagrid gasps quite loudly.

"Don' go 'round sayin' it, Harry! People call him that cause he did so many things that we were scared teh say his name!"

That idea sounds a bit backwards and stupid to Harry, but he keeps that opinion to himself. "Well, what do you mean I saved everyone from him? How could I do something like that and not know it?"

Hagrid suddenly seems very nervous. "I dunno if I'd be the righ' one the tell yeh abou' that, Harry," he begins, but the boy isn't letting him back out now.

"If you don't, who else will? If everyone but me knows something so big about myself, how am I supposed to go out and interact with those people?"

This argument, and no other, seems to strike a chord with Hagrid. After a few moments' heavy deliberation, Hagrid says, "When yeh were just a tyke, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height o' his reign, killin' people left an' righ', an' for some reason, he set yer family in his sights. One night, he got pas' the protection we set up fer yer family. He killed yer father an' mother, an' he tried to finish yeh off with 'em. Thing is, an' no one knows why, when he turned his wand on yeh and tried to kill yeh, it didn't work. Yeh survived what no other ever has, an' yeh killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the process."

Harry's mind is set whirling with this newfound information through the rest of the day, so that he barely notices anything else. Even through his foray into Gringotts—_Are those chimeras? Oh, no, just 'goblins'_—and retrieving all of his school supplies—_A twin core?_—and even when Hagrid gave him his early (by one week) birthday gift, a beautiful snowy owl, which he only realizes is his very first birthday gift he's gotten in this life while being old enough to remember the event.

The sun has long since set, and Harry finds himself sitting on his temporary bed, absentmindedly stroking the head of the beautiful bird as his mind reviews all of the day's events, sorting out the new knowledge and questions in his mind. It should bother him more, he thinks, to be an orphan boy faced suddenly with the truth of his parents' deaths. But as Edward, he was quite used to being the one that took care of everything after his father left (and later came back, only to die soon after) and his mother passed away. An as Harry, he doesn't even have any proper memories to miss about them. Really, Harry supposes he is just glad that his parents in this life had meaningful deaths, rather than pointless ones. Because, even though it wasn't explicitly said to him, Harry knows that his parents were fighting, resisting that demented man Voldemort, when they passed.

But there's another thing that Harry can't help but think of when his mind turns to his parents. Because he knows, with them having passed on when he was so young, he doesn't have more people to mourn. He doesn't have an extra dose of that pain he felt when his mother died. He doesn't have yet more family members that he has failed.

_'But… how did I fail the other ones?_'

The next morning, Harry wakes to the sight of his unnamed bird going from completely still and perching on his bedpost one moment, to having dived all the way across the room and looking at the young boy contentedly with a mouse in her mouth. The boy and the bird stare at each other for a moment, the boy still blinking sleep from his eyes, before the bird finally looks away and gobbles the mouse up, whole.

Harry bursts out laughing. This may mean he has a morbid sense of humor, but the sight of it was so ridiculous, in his opinion. He finds, with a bit of a start, that the bird reminds him of someone. A face appears in his mind, one eye closed and the other focused down the sights of a massive gun. A woman, with the eyes of a hawk, ready to take any and all prey with just a motion. _Riza Hawkeye_.

A name to a face. Since the day Harry remembered being Edward, he hasn't been able to put a face to any of the few names he has recalled, just vague emotions and recollections that haven't made a lick of sense. But now, faced with this beautiful female bird, he remembers Riza Hawkeye. He remembers her skill with guns, her fierce determination, and how could he ever forget that she was hiding one of the kindest personalities in Amestris behind all of that force and military elegance?

Harry finally knows what to name his bird. "Riza," he calls out, hesitantly at first, "How is that? Riza?"

The bird responds positively to the new name, flying over to land on his right shoulder and nip affectionately at his ear. "Hello, Riza," says Harry as he strokes her feathers. Riza coos contentedly in reponse.

It's at least an hour before Harry would usually wake up, but he still shakes off the sleepiness and begins stretching. Riza watches over him as he goes through the motions of what of his daily routine he can do in this room, adding extra of certain things to try and make up for the fact that he can't go on his run. Time slips by him, and he feels some of the peace he has lacked for so long with this situation. Almost before he knows it, Harry is towel-drying his hair from his shower, watching the sun rise over Diagon Alley through his window.

After a moment, the boy holds his arm out for the bird to land on. Riza immediately settles into place on the matching shoulder, so the boy drops his arm and adjusts his t-shirt. Throwing his towel somewhere behind him, Harry leaves the room. Riza has to clutch more tightly to his shoulder as he descends the rickety staircase leading into the bar, but the boy barely feels it. He waves to the bartender, Tom, as he passes through and out to the back courtyard. He quickly takes his wand out from his pocket and taps lightly on the brick he saw Hagrid strike with his pink umbrella yesterday, hoping that he's doing the right thing.

The archway quickly arranges itself before him, showing Harry for the second time the wonders of Diagon Alley. With a large grin and a roving eye, he sets off, heading for the bookshop he had visited only briefly the day before. Harry had read through a good part of each of the new books yesterday, quickly setting aside each one as he realized none of them explained quite _why_ magic works the way it does. The child prodigy in him is yearning for a good research session, desperate to understand, above everything else, _how_ he is in the new body.

He walks as quickly as he can toward the book shop, slowed by the fact that he can't seem to stop looking all around him at the early-morning routines of all of these shop owners and shoppers, many of them yawning widely and casting spells in a lazy manner. And when Riza takes off in search of more rodents, he can't help but watch her soar until she disappears behind a building.

Trusting that she'll be able to find him later, Harry walks into a book shop with a peaceful expression. Greeting the store's tired owner amicably, he makes his way to one of the rooms farther back in the store, deciding that he'll work his way forward through the selection. In this room, with the walls completely covered in slightly dusty tomes and volumes, Harry finds a few very squishy armchairs and two coffee tables between them. It doesn't take him long to find a couple promising-looking books and settle down in one of the chairs, and when he does, he is almost immediately lost to the outside world. Anyone who knew Edward would quickly recognize this as his Research Mode, and know that the only way to get his attention any time soon will be to either tease him with some food or another (hopefully stew) or to take the book right from his hands.

So, when Draco Malfoy walks into the back room of his favorite book shop for the twentieth time in a row and is greeted, for the first time, with the sight of someone else there, he reacts on instinct. Rolling his eyes to cover up surprise, Draco drawls loudly, "And who would _you_ be?"

The boy doesn't even lift his head, nor twitch a muscle. Frowning deeply, he tries again, "Hey you! I'm talking to you!"

No response. This feels familiar to Draco, achingly so, but he can't for the life of him place why. Somewhere in his mind, something is telling him to just act. So, letting go of his inhibitions, Draco listens to the voice, the one that always pops up when things feel so achingly familiar. He steps forward, invading the personal space of the boy with messy, raven locks. His arm snaps out, grabbing the book from the hands of the stranger, and in one fluid movement, he brings it down on top of the head of the boy who hasn't even had the time to react to the sudden loss of his book.

Harry is surprised. No, not just surprised, Harry is utterly shocked. Without any form of thought, the boy rubs angrily at his now smarting head and turns his head up to glare at the individual. That smirk, he's seen it before, so many times! The blond boy who just smacked him with his own book, he's smirking at Harry like this is an on-going game and he's gotten the lead. Still not pausing to think first, Harry lets the words blurt angrily from his mouth, "What the hell was _that_ for, Colonel Bastard?!"

Both boys freeze.

In Harry's mind, memories begin playing, shooting by at lightning speeds. There he is, Colonel Bastard, smirking at him after another short joke, after smacking him on the head with his own book, after finally winning an alchemy argument, after winning a bet, after asking him out on a date. It's the same smirk, exactly the same, and the strong face with raven hair and equally as dark eyes is superimposing itself over the features of this boy with white-blond hair and silver eyes. _Roy Mustang_.

In Draco's head, similar images rush by, images of an angry, ranting boy who grew into a proud man before his eyes, those indignant, determined eyes glowing at him with defiance right from day one. A boy turned man with metal limbs and golden features whose eyes are looking at him right now, just the same as they always have been, from the face of this new world's child savior. _Edward Elric_.

Finally, hesitantly, Draco whispers out the name, barely daring to believe it. "Edward?"

And Harry—no, he's very much Ed right now—grins. His slip-up, it turns out, was no mistake. '_Oh Gate, thank you!_' He thinks, staring into those eyes that he's both never seen before and knew so very well. Grin broadening even further, Edward asks confidently of the man before him, "How did I ever forget you?"

It's like a switch is flipped within Roy. One moment, he is fighting to hold onto that strong, proud image he built for himself in both worlds, and the next it all melts away and he is once more the man that he only ever showed to Edward in full: the kind, caring, worrying, loving man that was reserved just for the man for a time period that began barely a year before their sudden deaths. He drops the book in favor of closing the distance between himself and Edward, landing soundly in his lap as Draco wraps his arms around the both surprisingly and familiarly muscular frame.

Edward returns the embrace quickly, his own arms snaking around this new version of a man he's known for so long, holding the equally strong frame to himself with all of his might, not bothered in the least by the man's weight in his lap.

After a while of silence as each man-turned-boy revels in the mere presence of the other, Roy finally says without pulling away, "You weren't even twenty yet."

Edward knows exactly what Roy is referencing. Edward had passed on just weeks before his twentieth birthday. "And you weren't even thirty-three. We both died young, but you know as well as I do that we should be used to such a thing. I-I don't really remember much, but I do know that we were in the military, both had been for a while."

Finally, Roy pulls away enough to look Edward in the eyes. That troubled expression, the pain as he is obviously trying to figure out a puzzle that could very well be life or death, he knows that the boy before him is mentally branding himself a failure. Knowing that he won't be able to properly comfort Edward, nor truly assure him that it isn't his fault no matter what, Roy decides that a subject change is in order. So, he plasters a smirk on his face and says loudly, jerking Edward from his thoughts, "So, you've been born as the Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the Wizarding World. Famous, yet again. And you're still short."

Edward explodes, standing up so quickly that Roy is thrown from his lap. "WHO'RE YOU CALLING A BEAN-SIZED MIDGET SO SMALL AN ANT WOULD STEP ON HIM?! And besides, I'm not short! We're the same height now!"

Roy's smirk broadens. Truthfully, he had not expected Edward to be so tall. Standing gracefully, he notices that, in fact, Edward may be even a centimeter or two taller than himself.

Neither boy notices as they talk that night is quickly approaching, and if they had, they wouldn't care at all. Even when the owner of the shop comes to tell them it's closing time with a weird look on her face, the boys simply continue chatting away, holding hands absentmindedly as they walk through the darkened street. Neither one pays any attention to all of the looks they are garnering; they are so absorbed in each other. A storm could come blowing in, uprooting all of the shops and wrecking all of Diagon Alley to the point where nothing is salvageable, and they wouldn't mind a bit. They're together again, and that's all that matters.

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_**Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to review, favorite, and follow! I plan on updating every Saturday!**_


	4. Chapter 3

_**This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, but it makes a very important bridge that will become evident later on, I think. Sorry if it feels a bit filler-y (though in a sense, it IS a filler)! And if you see any mistakes that I've missed, please let me know!  
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA(B) or Harry Potter! And the general prompt for this story is not mine either, as that belongs to the lovely Yizuki!**_

**Chapter 3**

"How about this?" asks Roy as he pushes a strip of parchment toward Edward. The golden-eyed boy scans the circle on the paper for a few seconds before shoving it back in the others' direction.

"No. I can't even remember why, but I know if that circle were activated, it would rebound. DAMN IT!"

Roy's eyes widen as Edward mutters angrily under his breath, scratching away at a different parchment strip, his eyes determined and his jaw set. The two are in the back room of that same book shop, and have been every day since they met. After that first day, the two had settled in to begin forming a theory as to why they are in these bodies-why they are _alive_. A severe lack of detailed memories from their past lives, however, has been impeding any progress.

With a huff, Edward drops his quill and places a hand over his face, leaning back into the cushions of his seat. There's a pregnant pause as Roy watches him, until, finally, Edward speaks without moving an inch. "Roy. I think we've been going at this wrong. What if it wasn't some strange, complex alchemy that sent us here? What if it was… magic?" If Roy wasn't giving the other his full attention before, he is now. "Think about it," continues Edward, moving to sit up, "Alchemy is… it is all about strict laws and equivalency, right? At least, I remember saying something like that a few different times… But, doesn't magic basically _ignore_ laws? It-it feels wrong. Magic _feels_ wrong, and I haven't even done any myself yet! It's _foreign_! So wouldn't it make sense, that if something so _strange_ introduced us to magic, that it would have been _because _of magic in the first place?"

Roy, however, isn't given a chance to respond to this possible break through, because just at that moment, someone in the doorway clears his throat.

"Old man!" cries Edward as Roy whirls around to face the man. And indeed, standing in the entrance to this seemingly private room at the back of a used books store in Diagon Alley, is none other than Albus Dumbledore. His normal grandfatherly demeanor, however, is entirely missing as he stares at both boys as if he truly can see their very, insignificant souls. Edward visibly pales as the gaze is turned to him, and the feeling that only complete and utter honesty and humility could possibly save him from an untold wrath shudders down his spine.

"It would be wise, I believe, if you two told me immediately who you are and what you have done with the actual Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

Roy doesn't think he's ever been more compelled to _just tell the truth_ in either of his lives. Dumbledore's eyes, no longer twinkling in the way he's always been told they do, peer right into him, ready to have him bare his soul to the world. Yes, he thinks the truth is the safest option. But it's so impossible, so strange. And he's so familiar with secrets, comforted by them. He's always been told to hold his cards close to his chest until the very second he plays them. Secrecy, spying, intelligence, planning. These have been his weapons for a very long time. It can't possibly be that telling the truth would work better to save the two from this man's wrath than what has _always _worked so well!

Edward's train of thought is quite similar to Roy's as he stares like a deer in the old man's headlights. But he's never actually liked lying, always hated it in fact. For Edward, this practice born of necessity has always been one he's had to grin and bear. There are some things that others just _shouldn't_ know, he knows there are. But this… This is something else, Edward thinks. And this old man is, at least for today, way out of his and Roy's league. The cards are stacked quite endlessly against them and in the favor of this aged and practiced sorcerer. He just _knows_ he'd never be able to get away with lying so blatantly to such a straight question.

Slowly, as if cursing himself for speaking but forcing himself to anyway, Edward says, "We are the actual Draco and Harry. But we're also alchemists. Draco is General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, and I am Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist." A tingle of comfort spreads through Edward as he finally gets the chance to properly introduce himself. He can do anything, he thinks, anything that has to be done if he can do it as himself.

Dumbledore's shining eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but both boys catch the motion. Feeling almost thankful that Ed made the decision for him, Roy meets the man's calculating gaze with one of his own. The stare-off between all three lasts over a minute as the Supreme Mugwump considers everything as best he can. Finally the man says, "If you two will please accompany me to a more private area where we can discuss this in detail." The demand, because even though it is worded as if a request, both boys know plenty well that is nothing short of a demand, doesn't even attempt to veil the fact that the two Amestrians-turned-Englishmen are treading on very thin ice that begins to crack with every breath they take.

Dumbledore hold his arm out toward the two expectantly, drawing his wand with the other hand. Roy, cursing his lack of control, places a hand on the man's forearm with Edward following suit a moment later. The old man seemingly ignores the hesitance, simply waiting for both to get a firm grip before turning on his heel.

The tense trio do their best to brush off the sensation of being pulled through a tube that is much too small and find themselves in the headmaster's office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The aged sorcerer quickly flicks his wand while the other two are momentarily distracted, and a silver phoenix comes into exists and dives almost immediately through the floor at his command. Edward and Roy only just catch this motion through the corners of their eyes before two chairs appear in front of the desk at the back of the back of the room. Roy watches closely as Dumbledore makes his way to the cushioned, ornate seat behind the desk and sits gracefully, only making any move in that direction when the older man makes a gesture for him to do so.

Noting absently that Edward completely missed the man's motions, so intently focused on the strange gadgets littering various tables as he was, Roy nudges him on his way to take a seat. Edward quickly follows, though Roy can practically feel his curiosity burning in the air when they both sit. The ex-general turns his attention to the potential enemy before him and notes how well-controlled the man is. '_This is going to be difficult,_' he thinks in reference to gaining the upper hand on such a wizened and well-controlled man. He silently hopes that Edward will follow his lead, no matter how unlikely that is.

Dumbledore folds his hands and rests his chin on them, obviously observing their every twitch and staying seemingly utterly calm and collected. Roy's hopes are almost immediately dashed as Edward demands, "Where are we, old man?"

"We are in my office inside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." A knock on the door echoes through the room, and all within turn to face the door. Just as calmly as before, Albus says, "Ah, that must be Severus. Come in."

The door swings open of its own accord, revealing a tall man with greasy, black hair; a hooked nose; and a billowing, black cloak. The man raises an eyebrow before walking silently across the room to stand near Dumbledore. The old man begins speaking once more, but with this man, Severus, looming over them all and clutching two small phials of what Roy recognizes to be veritaserum , the threat is obvious enough: answer the question by choice or not, they will still be answered. "If I may, I will ask you both now who exactly you are."

Roy is unsurprised by Edward's mildly aggravated-sounding response, "I told you already. I am Harry Potter and he is Draco Malfoy. But we're also Edward Elric and Roy Mustang."

Severus sneers unpleasantly and says, "How can you be two people at once? It's impossible, unless you use polyjuice, in which case you wouldn't actually be the second person." Dumbledore shoots him a look, and he stops talking, though his sneer stays in place.

"If you don't mind, I am going to cast a charm that would remove the effects of any disguise you may be using," says Dumbledore as he aims his wand at the two. He quickly performs a few enchantments that neither boy recognizes. Finally, Dumbledore says, "See Severus, neither is using a disguise of any sort. So boys, what do you mean by saying you are both two people?"

"We mean exactly that!" growls out Edward. Roy almost rolls his eyes at this response.

Putting on professional placatory airs, Roy says, "What Edward says is true. We were both born into these bodies just as everyone is, and over the course of our lives thus far, have gained memories of a previous life in which we knew each other."

"A very political answer, Mister Mustang. Mister Elric called you a… general earlier, correct?"

Roy frowns at the probing and replies, trying to keep the balance of giving enough information to satisfy the man without giving away anything of true interest, "Yes. Edward and I knew each other through the military. He was a colonel at the time of our deaths."

"How did you both die?"

"I'm sure you are not unfamiliar with the dealings of a military force."

"I see. Mister Elric also called you both alchemists?"

Edward responds to this question, an undefinable expression on his features. "Where we were in our previous lives, the science of alchemy developed in place of magic."

"Where was this, may I ask?"

Roy doesn't even get a chance to puzzle over how they would respond to this one when Edward says, "Somewhere far away."

The questions draw to a close soon after that, and while it is obvious to all present that there will be many more to come, and that any form of trust between the boys and the professors will be nonexistent. However, Dumbledore still takes them back to Diagon Alley at the end of it all, saying his good bye in an amicable manner before leaving the two alone in that back room of the book shop as if none of that had ever happened.

After a few minutes of silence between the two ex-Amestrians, Edward says almost hesitantly, "Things are going to get much more difficult for here out, aren't they?"

Roy can do nothing in response but nod.

Back in his office, Dumbledore turns to Snape, waiting patiently for the man to finally say what's on his mind. "You don't really believe them, do you Albus?"

Dumbledore smiles serenely, looking every bit the peaceful old man that he should be. "I do, Serverus. After all, why would they come up with such an outrageous lie only to obviously still have so much to hide of it?" Snape rolls his eyes in reply, turning away from the aged sorcerer and heading for the door.

"You will learn eventually, you old coot, not to trust so easily." And with that, he storms out of the room, the door slamming behind him. Dumbledore folds his hands together and rests his chin on them, his elbows supported on the desk, and smiles.


	5. Chapter 4 Part 1

_**Hi! I'm alive! Explanation is at the bottom, and SUPER THANK YOU to everyone that reads this.**_

_**Disclaimer: FMA and Harry Potter belong to famous people. I'm not famous. The prompt for this story belongs to the lovely Yizuki!**_

**Chapter 4**

"What house do you think you'll be in?"

Edward blinks rapidly a few times, trying to refocus his burning eyes on the man sitting opposite him instead of the book he's been reading for who knows how long. His mind is foggy, filled up with millions of intricate, twisting magical theories and items and myths, all twisting together, and all with a mysterious lack of thoughts on anything really important. The two boys had spent the month of August after Dumbledore's visit researching all things magical in a new effort to find something that could possibly explain how they are here. "What did you say?" asks Edward, cocking his head to the side in his confusion. Roy smirks at the raven-haired boy as Edward rubs his eyes.

"Back in the in the world of the living, are you Fullmetal?" Edward glares at the smirking blond. "I asked what house you think you'll be in?"

"House? What are you going on about now, Colonel Bastard?"

Roy smirks, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to lord his information over the boy-who-lived-again. "So you've been told you'll be attending a magic school and you didn't do any research on it? I'm disappointed in you, Fullmetal." He smirks for a moment, just watching as the boy begins winding up tightly, ready to blow at the man. But, Roy knows that to push him off the edge just now wouldn't be the best idea. Both men have been quite high-strung since even before Dumbledore found them out. No, best to keep the teasing lighter this time round. "There are four houses at Hogwarts-groups they put the students in based on personality traits. They are each named after one of the founders of the school, and the general idea is that these personality traits were matched to that specific founder's. Ravenclaw is the group for book smart children, the ones with an insatiable appetite for knowledge. Hufflepuffs are the kind, quiet, and loyal ones. Gryffindors are the ones who are brave to the point of stupidity, also loyal. Generally, those kids are natural leaders. Slytherin is the house for the ones who want to prove themselves. They hold no qualms with following instincts for self-preservation and are generally highly opinionated. Slytherin is also the house that most of those so-called dark wizards have been coming from."

Roy feels quite anxious as a familiar, mischievous grin lights up Edward's features. "Slytherin sounds like a bunch of slimy bastards. I bet that's where you'll be going! It's a perfect fit. You'd be the king of Slytherin, General Bastard!"

Roy twitches. Oh, it's on, now. "And you, Edward? I'm sure you'd fit right in with the Gryffindor idiots, rushing in everywhere without bothering to think."

Edward twitches also. "Better than being a self-serving coward!"

"Total dumbass!"

"Slimy, useless asshole!"

"Is this a bad time?" Comes a new voice from the doorway. Harry and Draco whirl around, their previous argument dropped in record time, to be face-to-face with two boy slightly older than their own apparent ages with shockingly red hair and identical Cheshire grins. Actually, Draco muses, they are entirely identical, not just their grins. The twin who spoke first, standing to Draco's left, doesn't seem to have a single feature different from the one next to him.

The next twin speaks in the same tone of voice, "Because we can come back later,"

"If you two would like to continue your lover's quarrel." The sentence continues seamlessly from one boy to the next, and Draco just knows these two are going to be a massive headache in his future.

Harry grins, totally ignoring the somewhat-insult, and says, "Brilliant! I haven't met any identical twins before! I'm Harry, and this snarky bastard is my friend Draco. Who're you?"

At the introductions, each twin's features drop into that of comical shock. The one on the left says, "Harry? As in, Harry Potter?"

"And you're mates with _Draco Malfoy_?" Continues the other.

Harry's eyes narrow. "Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

Rather than be frightened by the boy's dark tone and obvious nonverbal threat, the twins' shocked expressions morph into delighted grins. "Not at all!" says the first.

"Have we introduced ourselves?"

"I don't think we have, dear brother!" The first twin cries with much too much false horror in his tone.

The second twin gasps. "That must be rectified at once!"

"Indeed!" Agrees the other. Then they turn back to Harry and Draco, and he continues, "I am Fred, and this is my brother George!"

The second twin furrows his brow in false annoyance. "No, I'm Fred! You're George!"

"Wrong again, dear brother! I'm Forge, and you're Gred!" says the first in an exasperated tone. Draco sighs heavily at this, already feeling the headache setting in.

_**Yeah, this is an evil little teaser type deal for the rest of the chapter. There WILL be more, but it will take time. I was amazingly unprepared for the incredible amount of shit life is dumping on me this school year, so... Time. It'll take it.**_

_**More is on its way. I'm really, SUPER sorry for letting you guys down like this, but I'm NOT going on hiatus, and I'm NOT abandoning this. Updates will be slow, but they will come. Please don't give up on me, kay guys? Thanks for every last one of you reading this, and any reviews you'd like to send my way always entice me to write more!**_


	6. Chapter 4 Part 2

Harry isn't quite sure what he thinks of the Weasley family. After the twins had finished their name antics (the ex-Amestrian had immediately decided to refer to them collectively as Gred and Forge so that he wouldn't be forced to try and keep which one is which straight), Draco and himself had been dragged off and introduced to the rest of the family who were apparently in the secondhand book store to get Hogwarts supplies. All of the others seemed to be just as surprised as Gred and Forge by the two's odd friendship, but at least the adults of the group handled it better.

And for the most part, Harry thinks he really likes this strangely large family. He and Draco were told there are two more older brothers they hadn't met (he thinks their names are something like Charles and Bob, but he's not quite sure), and Draco had mentioned after the two groups parted ways that he couldn't imagine having so many children, if any. The youngest, and only female child, had acted really strange around Harry. When asked about it, Gred and Forge teased that she is harboring a heavy crush for the famous boy, and after getting over that creepy slimy feeling at the idea of little girls like her existing all about the wizarding world, Harry and Draco began laughing outright. When asked, both refused to explain why it was so hilarious. Just after sharing their opinions on the number of children in the family, both ex-Amestrians admitted to wondering just how such little girls would react to the news that Harry is both homosexual and _taken_, not to mention many years older than he is believed to be.

The oldest child of the Weasleys at the shopping trip struck Harry as a know-it-all wussy. He didn't bother much to get to know the boy after a bit, already ready to punch him in annoyance. Draco found that quite amusing. The second youngest, though, caught Harry's attention. The same age as Harry and Draco's current bodies, Ron struck Harry as amusing, loyal, and more intelligent than one would guess at first glance, even if the boy is a bit of a glutton (Harry and Draco had bought everyone lunch in the Alley on a whim, doing their best to avoid any comments about money all the while).

So, after meeting and getting to know so many magical people, Harry wants to know how absolutely _none _of them told him how to find the platform?! The wizard boy glances back down at his ticket for the 64th time that hour, searching for some hint or another that he may have missed, but there's nothing. Nothing! The stupid platform number doesn't even seem to exist at this station; all of the ones he can see are whole numbers. And he's asked more than one official already, but all of them have blown him off. It's so _aggravating!_

Harry unconsciously scratches at the back of his head and spins in a slow circle, scanning the area he's in (between platforms 9 and 10) for _anything_ he might recognize to give him a hint. With yet another heavy sigh, the ex-Amestrian boy sees nothing.

"Oi, Harry! Over here!"

The boy whips around, searching for the owner of the familiar voice. A grin almost splits his face in two when he spots the entire Weasley family not far away, Gred and Forge waving wildly in his direction. The second twin calls out, "Over here, bean sprout!"

The reaction is immediate. The grin slips right off of Harry's face and he calls out in full Amestrian, "WHO'RE YOU CALLING A BEAN SPROUT MIDGET SO SHORT THAT HE WOULDN'T HAVE TO WORY ABOUT BEING IN A FIRE BECAUSE THE HOT SMOKEY PARTICLES IN THE AIR WOULD LIFT HIM UP TO SAFETY?!"

The Weasleys are directly in front of Harry by the time he's finished his foreign rant, and Mrs. Weasley asks him over the sound of the twins' laughter, "What language was that, dear?"

Harry pales, giving a little shrug and scratching the back of his head, "Uh, something my parents must have taught me, I guess." The Weasley mother hen, who has already learned the hard way not to show him any pity, simply nods.

"Well, I bet you were looking for the platform, weren't you dear?" Harry blushes and nods, embarrassed to be caught unaware by the kind woman. Said female, however, simply smiles at him and explains, "We're on our way there now, you just come with us Harry."

"Thank you Mrs. Weasley," calls the raven-haired boy with a small boy. He doesn't notices the older woman's gushing over his manners, though, because before he can blink the twins have each grabbed one of his arms and begun pulling him along toward one of the pillars between platforms nine and ten.

"Right this way Harry!" Says the first as Harry struggles to regain his footing whilst being pulled forward.

"You're going to love this," continues the next as the trio comes to a stop in front of a completely unremarkable support. Harry notes with some embarrassment that the rest of the Weasley clan is trailing behind them, Mr. Weasley pushing Harry's cart along without complaint.

"It's completely brilliant!" Finishes the first twin. Harry rolls his eyes at their antics before accepting his cart from Mr. Weasley with a grateful bow and muttered thanks. Turning to greet the rest of the family properly, Harry is totally unprepared when both of the twins quite randomly shove him at the stone pillar with all of their strength. With a cry of surprise, he careens right into the pillar, dragging his cart with his trunk and Riza, preparing for it to pin him against the stone pillar and break all of his bones, and _oh god this is going to suck, what were they thinking?_

Then nothing.

"Aww, come on Harry! It wasn't that bad!"

Harry turns his glare on the twins, and they both shrink back, finally giving up on getting him to talk. After the two had pushed Harry through the border to Platform 9 ¾ , he had only actually been upset for the twins for just long enough that the adrenalin of thinking he was going to be crushed by his stuff against a pillar and die had worn off. Besides that, Mrs. Weasley had chewed them out well enough that Harry had been cringing in sympathy. In fact, the only reason Harry is keeping up his angered charade is to pull a return prank on the tricksters. He doesn't quite know just what he'll do yet, but Harry knows it will have to be something thoroughly shocking.

_**AND DONE.**_

_**Yes, I really am evil enough to just leave it there. This is technically just the second, slightly longer, half to chapter four, but as you can see they are joined. BUT! I got them onto the train!**_

_**So, addressing just a few things before you go. **__**PLEASE READ THIS NEXT PART**__**. **_

_**The chapters are going to be shorter now, so that I can continue posting without making you wait like, two months. Previously they have been at a minimum of 4k words per chapter, but now I'm going to generally have them at about 2k words. And I refuse to EVER go under 1k words per chapter, so they won't be so annoyingly short. And please don't worry, I will not be hating on, nor neglecting, the book's main characters (Ron, Hermione, Dumbles, etc.). I love those guys, so I could never do that to them!**_

_**THANK YOU EVERYONE who has followed, favorited, and most amazingly, reviewed! Next time, the train ride and the Ex-Amestrian's first view of Hogwarts!**_


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